StarDate

Eighteenth-century astronomer William Herschel described the star system Beta Monocerotis as “one of the most beautiful sights in the heavens.” It’s one of the hidden beauties of Monoceros, the unicorn. The constellation is well up in the southwestern sky in early evening. It’s wedged between brilliant Orion and the “little dog” star Procyon. There’s not much to see in Monoceros with the eye alone. But telescopes reveal a bounty of beautiful sights. And Beta Monocerotis straddles both domains. It’s faintly visible to the unaided eye as one of the unicorn’s two brightest stars. But to see the same beauty that Herschel did, you need a telescope. That view reveals three stars, not one, all with a fetching blue-white color. The color comes from the temperatures of the stars – their surfaces are many thousands of degrees hotter than the Sun’s. And all three stars are much more massive than the Sun. That revs up the nuclear reactions in their cores, which is what makes them so hot. It also makes the stars extremely bright – as much as 3200 times as bright as the Sun. So the stars are visible across 700 light-years of space. The two faintest members of the system probably form a wide binary, with the third star orbiting around them. Combined, they make Beta Monocerotis a beautiful skywatching sight – a vision in blue for an early-spring night. Script by Damond Benningfield

We never know everything there is to know about a person from the first glance – or anything else, for that matter. And that includes the stars. It takes a lot of time, and a lot of looks with different instruments, to piece together the whole story. One example is the system Gaia BH2. It consists of two known objects. But there might once have been a third object – a star that was gobbled up. The system was discovered by Gaia, a space telescope. It revealed two objects: a black hole about nine times as massive as the Sun, and a giant star about 1.2 times the Sun’s mass. They orbit each other once every three and a half years. Ground-based telescopes revealed the composition of the giant. Its chemistry looked like that of an ancient star. But observations by TESS, another space telescope, suggested otherwise. The satellite measured “starquakes” on the surface of the giant star. Sound waves bounce around inside the star and back to the surface. So just as an earthquake tells us what’s happening below the surface of Earth, a starquake tells us what’s happening deep inside a star. The quakes revealed that the star spins faster than expected. That suggests it was spun up by interactions with something else. It might have swallowed debris that encircled the black hole. Or it might have swallowed another star, changing the chemistry at its surface – prematurely “aging” this giant star. Script by Damond Benningfield

The stars of Spica may be headed for a breakup. One of the two stars is likely to explode as a supernova. That may send the stars careening into the galaxy on their own. Spica is the brightest star of Virgo. It rises just above the Moon early this evening. The system consists of two big, heavy stars. The primary star, Spica A, is about 10 times the mass of the Sun. Spica B is about seven times the Sun’s mass. The stars are so close together that they whirl around each other once every four days. Within a few million years, Spica A will consume all the nuclear fuel in its core. The core will collapse, probably forming a neutron star – an object up to twice the mass of the Sun, but only as big as a city. Its outer layers then will blast into space at a few percent of the speed of light – a supernova. The companion star should survive, although it might lose some gas from its surface. But what happens next is tricky. Supernovas sometimes explode asymmetrically – the blast can be off-centered. That can give the neutron star a big kick. And the neutron star will be only a fraction as massive as the original star. That means its gravitational grip on its companion will be much weaker. The neutron star could zip off at high speed – perhaps fast enough to escape the galaxy. And even if that doesn’t happen, the stars are likely to move farther apart – a bigger gap between these impressive stars. Script by Damond Benningfield

Mercury is just peeking into view in the dawn sky. The little planet is in the east in the waxing twilight, and looks like a bright star. It’ll stand highest in the sky on Friday. But because of the angle at which it rises, it’s hard to spot. In fact, from much of the United States, you probably can’t see it at all. The view is best from south of about Dallas. That difficulty illustrates how tough it’s been for scientists to study Mercury. It’s never in view for long – no more than a couple of hours before sunrise or after sunset. And it’s so low in the sky that we always see it through a thick layer of air, so the view is murky – like trying to make out the shapes of clouds from the bottom of a swimming pool. In the late 1800s and the early 1900s, astronomers did make a few crude maps of Mercury’s surface. But there was a lot they couldn’t figure out. That included the length of the planet’s day. At first, it appeared that Mercury completed one turn on its axis in 88 Earth days – the same length as its year. In the early 1960s, though, astronomers bounced radio waves off the surface. That work showed that a day lasts 59 Earth days. So Mercury completes three turns on its axis for every two orbits around the Sun – three days for every two years. Again, look quite low in the east not long before sunrise for elusive little Mercury – a planet that’s been hard to get to know. Script by Damond Benningfield

For skywatchers, tonight’s a time for old friends. There’s an almost-full Moon, so its glare overpowers most of the stars in the night sky. But the brighter stars shine through – the most familiar ones. That includes the stars of the Big Dipper, which are in the northeast at nightfall. The dipper’s leading light is Alioth. It’s the first star in the handle. It’s about 80 light-years away. But it’s an easy target because it’s about a hundred times brighter than the Sun. That’s because it’s bigger and hotter than the Sun. Alioth is classified as a “peculiar” star – its chemical makeup is unusual. Astronomers measure its chemistry by breaking the star’s light into its individual wavelengths. Each element in the star imprints its own “barcode” in that pattern of light. But the mixture of elements in Alioth is different from most stars. Some elements are especially common, while others are unusually rare. And the mixture changes as the star turns on its axis. That behavior is caused by the star’s odd magnetic field. It’s tilted so far that the magnetic poles lie roughly along the star’s equator. Thanks to that alignment, the magnetic field pulls some elements to the surface, and concentrates them in specific locations. It pushes other elements down, so we can’t see them. So Alioth is both familiar and peculiar – an old friend that’s easy to pick out through the glare of the full Moon. Script by Damond Benningfield

Astronomers have been trying to hear from other civilizations for two-thirds of a century. So far, not a peep. But finding E-T might be the easy part. Actually having a conversation might be a lot harder. We wouldn’t know what the other folks were saying – or whether they were interested in talking at all. To gain some insight, scientists have been studying some “non-terrestrial” intelligences here on Earth – whales and dolphins – species that live in the oceans instead of on land. Many of them have complex communications with each other. And some of them interact with humans. One example is humpback whales. They’re playful and curious, and they often approach boats and divers. And a recent study suggested that they might be trying to have a conversation. Researchers found a dozen times when humpbacks blew special bubbles while they were near people. The bubbles looked like smoke rings, a few feet across. The bubbles were different from those associated with other behavior, such as courting or “corraling” fish. In most cases, a whale first approached the people, then moved away a bit and blew one or more rings. Some of the whales poked their heads up through the rings. The researchers said the whales might have been trying to play, or to see how the people responded. But the bubbles could have been an attempt to communicate – starting a conversation between terrestrial and non-terrestrial life. Script by Damond Benningfield

The star Regulus leads the Moon across the sky tonight. The bright heart of the lion is close to the upper right of the Moon at nightfall, with the gap increasing as the hours roll by. Regulus is about 79 light-years away. That means the light you see from Regulus tonight actually left the star about 79 years ago. So when a particle of light from Regulus hits your eye, it’s ending a journey of 79 years. As with many things astronomical, though, it’s all relative. For the particle of light itself – a photon – the trip took literally no time at all. That’s because the photon was traveling at the speed of light – 670 million miles per hour. Nothing can travel faster than that. And only photons can travel at that speed. That’s because photons have no mass – they weigh nothing at all. If anything else were to travel at lightspeed, it would become infinitely massive. So physical objects are limited to just below lightspeed. As an object moves faster, time appears to slow down for it as viewed by an outside observer – its clock would tick more slowly. So if you could accelerate a starship to just a fraction below lightspeed, it could travel for thousands of years as measured by a clock back on Earth – but just a few years or even less as measured by its own clock. So as you look at Regulus tonight, remember that the photons are completing a journey of both 79 years – and no time at all. Script by Damond Benningfield

A young planet is getting greedy. It’s gobbling up gas and dust from its surroundings. And observations last summer showed that its appetite got a lot bigger – it was consuming as much as eight times more material than in the spring. The planet is known by a catalog designation – Cha 1107. That indicates it’s in the constellation Chamaeleon, which is too far south to see from the United States. It’s hundreds of light-years away. Most planets are born in disks of material that encircle newborn stars. But this one appears to be on its own. That makes it a “rogue” world. It’s roughly five to ten times the mass of Jupiter, the largest planet in our own solar system, and about three times Jupiter’s diameter. It’s encircled by its own disk of material. That’s because it’s in a giant complex of gas and dust that’s giving birth to many new stars. As it pulls in material from its disk, it gets heavier – just like a newly forming star. The planet won’t get big enough to shine as a true star. But it’s possible that it could become a “failed” star known as a brown dwarf – a sort of missing link between stars and planets. Last summer’s outburst wasn’t the first for Cha 1107. It flared up in 2016 as well. So its growth process may be choppy – short feeding frenzies between longer periods of quieter appetite. Script by Damond Benningfield

If you’re looking for a world like Tatooine, good luck. Of the more than 6,000 known planets in other star systems, fewer than 20 orbit both stars of a binary system. So those double sunsets are few and far between. Just to refresh your memory, Tatooine is the home world of Luke Skywalker in Star Wars. Such planets are called “circumbinaries” because they circle around both stars in the system. Over the past decade, astronomers have searched for such worlds in a project with a rhythmic name: Bebop – Binaries Escorted by Orbiting Planets. The project looks for tiny “wiggles” in the motions of the stars caused by orbiting planets. It’s found a few planets, with several more candidates. One of those discoveries is Bebop-3b. The system’s two stars are quite close together. One of them is similar to the Sun. The other is only about a quarter of the Sun’s mass, and a tiny fraction of its brightness. The planet is about half the mass of Jupiter, the giant of our own solar system. It orbits the two stars once every 18 months, at a bit more than Earth’s distance to the Sun. We don’t know how fast Bebop-3b rotates, so we don’t know how often it sees sunrises and sunsets. All we know for sure is that there are two of each – one featuring a bright star, the other a faint cosmic ember. The system is about 400 light-years away. It’s high overhead at nightfall – but much too faint to see without a telescope. Script by Damond Benningfield

In the lexicon of astronomy, Pollux is known a class K-zero-3 star. That tells us that the star’s surface is a little cooler and redder than the Sun’s. It tells us that the star has puffed up to many times its original size. And it tells us that the star is nearing its end. Pollux is the brightest star of Gemini. It’s quite close to the Moon tonight. Its “twin,” the star Castor, and the brilliant planet Jupiter are a little farther from the Moon. The system that astronomers use to classify stars was developed more than a century ago. It groups the stars into classes O, B, A, F, G, K, and M. That system is based on a star’s surface temperature or color – hotter stars are bluer, while cooler stars are redder. O stars are blue-white, while M stars are red or orange. Each class is subdivided using the numbers zero through nine. At K-0, Pollux is just across the line from class G – the class that includes the Sun. The classification ends with the Roman numerals one through five. A “five” means the star is in the main phase of life. A “three” means it’s moved on to the giant phase. It’s converted the hydrogen in its core to helium. Pollux is now fusing the helium to make carbon and oxygen. That change has caused it to puff up; it’s nine times the diameter of the Sun. Over time, Pollux will get even bigger, cooler, and redder. It may evolve into class M – a brilliant star at the end of its life. Script by Damond Benningfield

Jupiter is the “big boy” of the solar system. It’s more than twice the mass of all the other planets combined. In many other star systems, though, Jupiter wouldn’t seem quite so impressive. Astronomers have discovered hundreds of planets that are heavier than Jupiter – up to 80 times Jupiter’s mass. Astronomers aren’t sure how such monster planets get to be so heavy. But they have a couple of main ideas. One says they grow from the mergers of smaller planets. The other says it depends on the environment in which a planet is born. Almost all planets take shape in disks of gas and dust around infant stars. The more material there is in the disk, the more there is for making planets. But there’s a limit on how massive a planet can become. Anything more than about 30 times the mass of Jupiter might become a brown dwarf – an intermediate step between planets and stars. And at more than 80 times Jupiter’s mass, it becomes a true star. The heavy planets don’t get much bigger than Jupiter, no matter how massive they are. As an object gains mass its gravity gets stronger. That squeezes it tighter, making it more compact. So while these “super-Jupiter” planets might outweigh Jupiter, they’d look a lot like the big boy of the solar system. Look for Jupiter near the Moon tonight. It looks like a brilliant star, so you can’t miss it. The twin stars of Gemini are close by, and we’ll have more about that tomorrow. Script by Damond Benningfield

Elnath has dual citizenship. Officially, it’s the second-brightest star of Taurus, so it’s known as Beta Tauri. It marks the tip of one of the bull’s horns. But it’s also known as Gamma Aurigae – one of the bright stars that outlines Auriga, the charioteer. That designation is un-official – it’s been considered defunct for almost a century. The dual identity is a result of changes in how astronomers define the constellations. At first, the constellations were vaguely defined. Each one encompassed the connect-the-dots pattern that outlined the classical figure. But there weren’t hard borders. In 1603, German astronomer Johannes Bayer published a new naming scheme for all the stars. In it, he assigned Elnath to both Taurus and Auriga. That worked fine for centuries. But in the early 20th century, astronomers decided to assign precise boundaries for each constellation – like the borders of states or nations. Elnath was just inside the border of Taurus. So, officially, Elnath belongs to the bull. But it still forms part of the classical outline of Auriga – giving Elnath a dual citizenship. Elnath is about 130 light-years away. It’s about five times the size and mass of the Sun, and it’s hundreds of times brighter. It’s easy to pick out tonight because it’s close to the Moon. As night falls, they’re no more than one or two degrees apart – right along the border between the bull and the charioteer. Script by Damond Benningfield

Just about every star is born in a cluster – a family of dozens to thousands of stars. Most of these families fall apart, with the individual stars going their own way. The Sun’s cluster, for example, dissipated billions of years ago. One cluster that’s in the process of dissipating is the Hyades, which outlines the face of Taurus, the bull. It’s the nearest cluster, at a distance of about 150 light-years. Today, the Hyades contains several hundred stars – probably less than half its original population. The other stars were pulled away by the gravitational tug of the rest of the galaxy. The cluster’s heaviest stars reside in its tightly packed center. None of them is much more than about twice as massive as the Sun. That’s because of the cluster’s age – 625 million years. All of its heavier stars have already burned out. All that remains is their dead cores. The least-massive stars have migrated to the outskirts of the cluster. Over the next few hundred million years, those stars will all drift away. That will leave only a sad little remnant of this impressive family of stars. The Hyades stands to the lower left of the Moon this evening. Its stars form a “V” shape. The brightest star in the outline is bright orange Aldebaran, the bull’s eye. But it’s not a member of the cluster – it simply lines up in the same direction as the stars of the Hyades. We’ll have more about the Moon and Taurus tomorrow. Script by Damond Benningfield

For the kings of ancient Egypt, the Sun was much more than just a glowing orb in the daytime sky. It was the god Ra, one of the most important of all the gods. Ra was a creator of life, the king’s father, and a representation of the king as a god himself. So the kings of the Fifth Kingdom, about 4500 years ago, built temples to honor the Sun. Archaeologists have recently excavated about half of the largest one yet discovered – a massive complex that might have been topped by a spot for watching the Sun and stars. The temple is named “Joy of Ra” or “Joy of the Heart of Ra.” It’s at Abu Gorab, about 10 miles from Cairo, near the ancient capital, Memphis. It was built by King Nyuserre, who reigned for two or three decades. At the time, the kings identified themselves with Ra – as eternal gods. So the temple was a place to honor both Ra and the king. Excavations have uncovered two large enclosures. The upper level was discovered 125 years ago, but the lower one was found just recently. The upper level included an altar for making offerings to Ra. And one end featured an obelisk that would have towered high above the courtyard and the surrounding landscape. It had a perfect east-west alignment – the directions of the rising and setting Sun. The recent work also uncovered a stairway to the roof. The rooftop probably served as an observatory – helping Nyuserre follow his “father” across the sky. Script by Damond Benningfield

An astronomer greets visitors to a science museum in Canberra, Australia. He’s made of riveted iron plates, and he stands atop a wide ring, gazing skyward through a smaller ring in his right hand. He’s the last remnant of an historic telescope that was destroyed in a massive wildfire. The fire blazed across Australia in January of 2003. It destroyed most of Mount Stromlo Observatory, one of the major astronomy research centers in the southern hemisphere. The fire consumed five telescopes, plus a laboratory where scientists and engineers built astronomical instruments. One of the casualties was the Yale-Columbia Telescope. It was a 26-inch refractor – a type of telescope that uses lenses to gather and focus starlight. It was built in 1924, and had been operating at Mount Stromlo for half a century. Astronomers had used it to measure the distances to stars, to study double stars, and more. After the fire, an Australian science institute commissioned a sculptor, Tim Wetherell, to create an artwork from the telescope’s remains. The result was “The Astronomer” – the piece on display in Canberra. The figure stands on a setting circle – a wide ring that indicated where the telescope was pointing. It has numbers at 10-degree intervals, from zero to 180. The astronomer is holding a smaller version of the ring in his hand – continuing to look at the stars long after the telescope’s demise. Script by Damond Benningfield

The crescent Moon and the planet Venus team up in the evening twilight tonight. Venus is the brilliant “evening star.” It’s below the Moon, and it sets by the time the sky gets fully dark. Venus is enveloped by an unbroken layer of clouds – one of the reasons the planet looks so bright. The clouds are a few dozen miles above the surface. And they’re speedy – they race around the planet at up to 335 miles per hour – twice as fast as the winds in a category-5 hurricane. They make a full turn around Venus every four days. That’s more than 50 times faster than the planet is turning on its axis. That high-speed motion is called super-rotation. No one knows for sure what causes it. A study a few years ago said it might be powered by the Sun. The clouds are hottest at the equator, where the sunlight is strongest. The hotter atmosphere flows outward, toward the poles and toward the nightside – reaching super-fast speeds. Super-rotation doesn’t extend all the way to the surface, though. Below the clouds, the wind speed drops dramatically. At the surface, there’s almost no wind at all. But the atmosphere is quite dense – more than 90 times the density of Earth’s atmosphere. Any wind at all exerts a lot of pressure, so it can erode the surface. That can wear away mountains, and gouge channels that look like they were carved by flowing water – all below the speedy clouds of the planet Venus. Script by Damond Benningfield

Spring arrives in the northern hemisphere tomorrow morning, when the Sun crosses the celestial equator from south to north – the vernal equinox. Over the next three months, the Sun will travel ever farther northward, bringing longer, warmer days north of the equator. Vernal comes from the Latin word for spring. And equinox means “equal nights.” Theoretically, all points on Earth should see equal amounts of daylight and darkness on the equinox. But for several reasons, the interval between sunrise and sunset – which should be exactly 12 hours – varies by a few minutes. The vernal equinox marks the starting point for the system that astronomers use to plot the sky. They measure the positions of astronomical objects using coordinates called right ascension and declination – the equivalent of longitude and latitude. Right ascension is measured in hours. The point where the Sun crosses the celestial equator – the projection of Earth’s equator on the sky – on the vernal equinox is designated as zero hours. It’s the equivalent of zero degrees longitude – the line that runs through Greenwich, England. And just as Earth’s equator marks zero degrees latitude, the celestial equator is designated zero degrees declination. So at the moment of the vernal equinox, the Sun stands at celestial coordinates zero-zero – beginning a new cycle through the stars. Tomorrow: the Moon and a bright companion. Script by Damond Benningfield

The heart of the galaxy Messier 87 is a cosmic maelstrom. A disk of super-heated gas that’s hundreds of times the size of our solar system encircles a monster black hole. Gas at the inner edge of the disk spirals into the black hole, producing huge amounts of X-rays. Enormous magnetic fields channel some of the gas into powerful “jets.” It’s not a place you’d ever want to visit. But it’s a fascinating region to study from far away. M87 is a giant elliptical galaxy. It looks like a fat, fuzzy rugby ball. It’s bigger than our home galaxy, the Milky Way. It has many more stars, and could be up to 200 times as massive as the Milky Way. The black hole at its heart is impressive, too. It’s roughly 1400 times the mass of the black hole at the center of the Milky Way. It’s pulling in gas, dust, and other debris. That material forms a disk that’s hundreds of times wider than the orbit of Neptune, the Sun’s most-distant planet. A recent study found that material in the disk is falling into the black hole at a quarter of the speed of light. And the black hole itself is rotating at 80 percent of lightspeed or faster. That rotation generates a powerful magnetic field. The field catches some of the infalling material and shoots it back into space. That creates a “jet” of charged particles that’s thousands of light-years long – a beam of deadly radiation from the heart of Messier 87. Script by Damond Benningfield

A galaxy cluster is like a cosmic blender. It stirs up the galaxies and the space between them. Nothing is left undisturbed. A perfect example is the Virgo Cluster. It consists of more than 1500 individual galaxies, centered about 55 million light-years away. Most of them are fairly small and faint. But a few are monsters – many times the size and mass of our home galaxy, the Milky Way. The cluster’s galaxies are packed fairly close together. So the gravity of each galaxy pulls at its neighbors. That distorts the shape of some of the neighbors, making them lopsided. It also causes big clouds of gas to collapse and give birth to new stars. And it pulls many stars out of the galaxies, into the space between them. In fact, up to one-tenth of the stars in the cluster may be roaming through intergalactic space. The cluster’s brightest galaxy is Messier 49. It was the first to be discovered, in 1771. It’s a giant elliptical, so it looks like a fat, fuzzy rugby ball. It’s much bigger than the Milky Way, and many times its mass. And a supermassive black hole inhabits its heart. The biggest and heaviest member of the cluster is Messier 87, and we’ll talk about it tomorrow. The Virgo Cluster is centered along the border between Virgo and Leo. That spot is low in the east at nightfall and climbs high across the sky later on. Many of the galaxies are easy targets for small telescopes. Script by Damond Benningfield

Snow blanketed the launch pad, and the rocketeers sipped hot malted milk to ward off the chill. But the launch they conducted a century ago today turned the idea of space travel from fantasy to possibility – and provided the first small step toward the Moon. The rocket was designed by Robert Goddard, a physics professor at Clark University in Massachusetts. Goddard was brilliant but secretive. He refused to collaborate with other scientists, and seldom even talked about his research. Instead, he spent his time building, testing, and flying rockets. At the time he started, all rockets were powered by solid fuels, such as gunpowder. But solid fuels are inefficient and hard to control. So Goddard built a rocket powered by liquid fuels – gasoline and liquid oxygen. It was a potent mixture that provided far more energy per pound than solids. Goddard and his wife and assistants launched the first liquid-fueled rocket in history on March 16th, 1926. It was airborne for just two and a half seconds, and climbed just 41 feet. But it proved that liquid fuels could propel a rocket skyward. Goddard spent two more decades experimenting with rockets. German engineers used many of his innovations in the V-2, which bombarded England during World War II. Transplanted to the United States after the war, many of these engineers developed the rockets that boosted satellites into space – and sent astronauts to the Moon. Script by Damond Benningfield